


Nocturnal

by PussNHikingBoots



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fantasizing, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PussNHikingBoots/pseuds/PussNHikingBoots
Summary: Malcolm Bright might not have an active sex life, but he has an active imagination.Also, some mornings are better than others.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Nocturnal

**Author's Note:**

> About the restraints:  
> From what I gather from the show, Malcolm's restraints are meant to keep him from getting out of bed and sleepwalking. They are not meant to keep him from scratching his nose or scratching his balls. There's a lot of leeway in those straps.

Malcolm Bright awoke with a gasp, his eyes flying open. It only took half a second for him to realize that his sleep had been interrupted by something far more pleasant than the usual. Not a _pavor nocturnus,_ but a nocturnal emission. He felt the weight of his hand, wrist still shackled, resting firmly atop his dick, which was pulsing rhythmically. Releasing semen in staccato spurts onto his abdomen. He let his eyelids flutter shut and let out a long, low moan.

Probably the most pleasant morning he had had in a while. At least he didn’t have to worry about his mother barging in on him at such an early hour. And as quickly as that thought came in, he shook it off. He certainly didn’t want to be thinking about his _mother_ during the last fleeting moments of orgasm. Instead, he lay there and focused on basking in the pleasant after buzz and subtle floating sensation. Orgasms were rather rare for him these days, and he wanted to savor the moment while it lasted.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have them or couldn’t have them. It was just that, between his medications, anxiety, lack of sleep, and lack of nutrition, he didn’t exactly have the strongest libido for a man his age. It never bothered him that much. It was almost as, if not more, thrilling for him to work cases and save innocent people from horrible non-innocent people.

Malcolm had taken to creating “masturbation sessions“ for himself. Long, drawn out affairs that he could really sink into. He had found that his attempts at quickies were unreliable at best, and frustrating time-wasters at worst. Things seemed to go better for him if he could pre-plan a little and set aside some dedicated time to pleasuring himself. He kept a well-concealed box of high end, body safe toys for the occasion. Several different sizes of butt plugs and anal dildos. An Aneros, though he had yet to figure that one out. A much simpler prostate massager, ergonomic, or course. A Fleshlight – he rarely used that one since it was such a pain to clean. (One time he left it out on the counter to dry, and he swears his mother saw it. For once in her life, she had the decency not to comment.) And a cock ring. That one didn’t actually make sense for him. But then, no one had ever accused him of making sense.

Sometimes he didn’t even bother with the box. A very light coating of lube and his own hands were enough. Coupled with a vivid imagination. It seemed he was never able to get off on physical touch alone. He always had to create a scenario in his mind to get and keep him turned on long enough to climax. The scenes in his head were detailed and sometimes complex. This helped him to stay focused on the task at hand, where otherwise his mind might wander into darker territories and ruin the entire occasion.

Usually he would imagine others doing things to him. He was rarely the assertor in his own fantasies. He liked to imagine himself begging and whining for certain acts and for his faceless companions to demand things of him, to force him into certain positions, to turn him this way and that, to command him to say out loud certain phrases, to tell him exactly what they were going to do to him without asking for consent. Of course, since these were all fantasies in his head, they were, by definition, consensual. The part that did it for him was having them boss him around.

He rarely put faces to his fantasies, not even stranger’s faces. He found that if he did, he would immediately start profiling them and be pulled away from any hope of an orgasm.

He didn’t particularly care what gender was tending to his body. He liked to mix it up. Just as at home with an invisible cock in his mouth as he was with the imagined sensation of a vagina sinking down onto his own cock. Both of those scenarios at the same time were particularly appealing. And to up the ante, he would stretch his arms out to each side and imagine that two fingers on his left hand were inserted into a wet pussy, and that his right hand was gripping a hard shaft. Fantasizing without actually touching himself was a wonderful form of foreplay for him. If he let the fantasy go on for a while, he could get himself achingly hard before ever moving his hand down to grip himself.

When he finally allowed himself to touch, he imagined that his hand belonged to somebody else. They were the ones exploring his shaft, pulling at his balls, pressing a fingertip into his slit. Then he would begin to work himself up to a rhythm, stop for a while to run his hands up the insides of his thigh and tweak his nipples, and then back down to his cock to get the rhythm going again.

He could do this for a very long time and slowly build up the tension in his body. His stomach fluttering in and out, his breathe coming heavier and heavier. A moan, a groan, escaping here and there. His voice sometimes raspy and low, other times harsh and quick. He liked to say out loud whatever his fantasy partners told him to say.

“Yes, please. Smother me with your pussy, and let me put my tongue inside you. Thank you.”

“Oh yes. I love it. I need it. I want your cock inside me now. Fill my ass.”

“Yes, please, suck me. Please, I can’t stand it. I need your mouth on me.”

“Now. Please. I’m begging.”

“Yes, I want your hot cum all over my chest. Give it to me. Thank you.”

“Please, I want to come. Please let me come. Please.”

“Yes.”

“Please.”

“Thank you.”

Once the litany started, he was well on his way, moaning and gasping between phrases. Calling and answering his own requests. Thigh and stomach muscles tensing in anticipation. Balls drawing up in preparation.

And then finally, finally, one of the shadowy figures in his mind would bend down to whisper in his ear. A permission. A command. Come. Come now. You may come.

And he would open his mouth to allow himself to wail or whine or mewl or grunt. His hand moving insistently to seal the deal. His cock shooting its load onto himself. His body quivering and shaking, releasing everything that had been bottled up inside. His come. His cries. His tears.

When it was over, he would lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying to stay in that space as long as possible. Knowing that he inevitably would slip back into going over case files in his mind or falling into the anxiety and chaos of his daily thoughts, his masturbation vacation coming to a crashing halt. Then he would go clean himself up, get re-dressed, and try not to feel guilty for having turned his phone off prior to the session.

Now, as he lay there on his bed, not bothering to unbuckle his restraints just yet, he allowed the warm pleasant sensations to slowly fade. He wondered if there was a way to up the ratio. Could he somehow get his body and mind to decrease the number of _pavores nocturni_ he experienced each week while increasing the number of nocturnal emissions? It gave him a feeling of hope to think that maybe he could. As he mused on that, he ran his fingers through the viscous fluid on his stomach, feeling how it was already starting to dry and stick to the little hairs. He let out a sigh and brought his fingers to his lips for a taste.

Time to start his morning routine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first smut piece for the Prodigal Son fandom.  
> I absolutely welcome all comments, including criticisms, and of course grammar and spelling errors. If you have something to say, say it! Good or bad, I'm fine with it.


End file.
